


The Statistical Improbability of Us

by pennyroads



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Light Angst, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 19:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyroads/pseuds/pennyroads
Summary: It was ridiculous to think that they had stuck together through multiple attempts on their lives - through serial killers, gang rivalries and their dysfunctional upbringing - only to be torn apart by something so incredibly mundane.“I don't want to be the villain in our story.”“You're not, Juggie.” If he was the villain, then so was she, because this was as much her decision as his.Partners in crime, even on this.





	The Statistical Improbability of Us

**Author's Note:**

> A few of you have already read this — I took it down because I had some issues with it. 
> 
> The biggest, most heartfelt thanks goes out to the very lovely and very patient @theheavycrown for being generous and kind enough to look this over for me and hold my anxiety-ridden hand. I’m forever grateful — and this is dedicated to her.

...Then...

 

“Tell me,” Jughead pleaded.

“Tell me you don't think this is the right thing to do.”

His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it echoed like thunder in Betty’s ears. Her hands were trembling. She clenched her fists to stop it, but it was useless. Her entire body was shaking. Dread pooled in her stomach and spread through her like ice-cold wildfire. 

Betty couldn't speak. She tried to think of a reason; tried to come up with a rational argument that would thwart this discussion for good. But she couldn't formulate the words, because her mind was foggy with panic and her eyes were filling with tears that didn't, couldn't, wouldn't stop her from seeing the resolute look on Jughead’s ashen face. 

Betty knew then, as she had known a week before, a month - there was nothing she could say and nothing she could do to stop this from happening. The inevitability of their break up had been plaguing her ever since college applications had become a reality and thoughts about the future had aggressively pushed their way to the forefront of everyone's minds. 

She had tried to ignore it, at first. So had he. 

But as Jughead lay wide awake at night next to her, growing more certain that their time together was rapidly coming to a close, so had Betty begun to realize that their relationship - her guiding light throughout their many ups and downs - had an expiration date.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. 

“I can’t.” 

Jughead let out the breath he'd been holding. He didn't look surprised by her answer. His posture didn't change, his shoulders didn't stiffen. The inner turmoil he was feeling showed through his eyes, like it always did. 

The eyes were the window to soul, after all - and Jughead’s soul was currently fighting a battle with itself, knowing it couldn't win. 

“I love you.” His voice shook. 

“I know.” 

And she did. Without question. Her own love for him was as sure and steady as the knowledge that her name was Elizabeth Cooper and she was eighteen years old. 

It was ridiculous to think that they had stuck together through multiple attempts on their lives - through serial killers, gang rivalries and their dysfunctional upbringing - only to be torn apart by something so incredibly mundane. 

“I don't want to be the villain in our story.” 

“You're not, Juggie.”

If he was the villain, then so was she, because this was as much her decision as his. 

Partners in crime, even on this. 

Time was running out. Soon enough, they'd have to say goodbye. 

But not yet.

...

At the end of August, Betty reluctantly packed her bags. Every sweater she carefully folded into her suitcase felt like a stab in the gut.

Their last morning together dawned bright and cheerful and Betty felt sick to her stomach. Jughead didn't look any better. They held each other close, refusing to leave the comfort and safety of their bed until Alice Cooper came knocking on the door, demanding that they get up and get moving. 

Later, they stood outside Betty’s front door, looking for all the world like two soldiers heading off to different wars. The easy rapport that had been a trademark of their relationship was gone. The air around them felt heavy, making it difficult to breathe. 

Jughead looked into Betty’s eyes. 

He wanted to say: In the tragic story of my life, you were the plot twist that gave me hope.

But what he said was: “I’ll miss you everyday.”

Life had a particularly twisted sense of humor. It had given them a nearly insurmountable amount of pain and trouble, the kind which no teenager should ever have to go through. But it had given them each other, as if saying: Here is your recompense for the heavy load you must carry. I know you are weary; lay down your head. You are safe here. 

And now it was taking it all away, like a cruel punch line at the end of a joke. 

Grabbing Betty around the waist, Jughead pulled her to him. They embraced, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair as she buried her nose into the crook of his neck. His fingers pressed hard against her back. She felt him shudder. 

Jughead wanted to have the memory of the way she felt under his touch engraved on his mind. They knew each other's bodies by heart, like a familiar song on the radio that you sang along to every time. He didn't want to forget a single word.

When they pulled away, Betty noticed that her tears had left a wet stain on his shirt. She wanted to apologize. Instead, she caressed his face.

She wanted to say: You saved me when no one else even noticed that I was drowning.

But what she said was: “Be safe.” 

He smiled humorlessly. Nodded, to indulge her. His mouth felt ashy; he swallowed once, twice. 

Alice Cooper was waiting by the car, looking pointedly at her watch. It was time. Betty tossed a look over her shoulder at her mother as tears fell in rapid succession down her face. 

“I don't think I can walk away.” 

“I don't think I can watch you do it.” 

The time for conversation was over; a lot had been said. It would never be enough. 

Betty squeezed Jughead’s hands and turned around, walking swiftly to the car without looking back. She got in, put her seatbelt on, and leaned back against the headrest, eyes tightly shut. Alice didn't say a word. She put the car in drive and took off. 

Their time had run out. And although Betty would be traveling 2,978.5 miles away from Jughead to the University of California, Berkeley, she knew her heart would be staying in Riverdale, with him. 

...

“When are you coming back? Riverdale just isn't the same without you. I have so many plans for us this summer.” Veronica babbled. Betty’s fingers tightened around the phone. 

She bit her lip. Took a deep breath. “I’m actually not coming home this summer.”

“What?!” 

“I found an internship at an online magazine. They rarely accept sophomores, it’s a really big deal.” 

And it was. It would give her a leg up in the cut-throat job market after graduation. But Betty was self-aware enough to realize that one of the reasons that had driven her to seek out an internship for the summer was that she was terrified of going back to Riverdale and facing Jughead. 

It had been a year since she'd last seen him, and she had only just started to feel like herself again. 

Heartbreak was brutal and it came in stages. 

First, it hit you like a high-speed train, pumping agony into every cell of your body. It permeated your every thought and haunted your ever step. It was constant. Unrelenting.

Then it turned into a dull ache, like a migraine you can’t ever shake, pressing against your skull and demanding to be felt. You could live with it, but it wasn't pleasant. 

And finally, when you thought the worst was behind you, it came at you in short, painful bursts like growing pains that wake you up at night - excruciating, unpredictable, and disorienting. Those were the worst, because they appeared without warning, brought on by a stray memory or a particular smell, or a guy from her Lit class who wore a black leather jacket and had unruly dark hair. 

She had also started thinking that maybe, just maybe, they had ended things because it had been easier than trying to make their situation work. 

But who could blame them for wanting things to be easy for once in their lives? 

She didn't like to entertain those thoughts, because if true, it would make her a coward. And she felt rotten enough already. 

...

“So Mr Jones, what makes you want to come work with us here at the library?”

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. It’s an integral part of who I am,” Jughead replied candidly. 

“I think I'd also appreciate the peace and quiet. There's not a lot of that, where I come from.”

The Human Resources lady smiled agreeably and scanned the job application he had filled out on a whim, days before.

“And where do you see yourself in ten years?”

His brain assaulted him with a barrage of images of Betty. It played through memories of their time together, slotting them between made-up scenarios of a future they might never have: Betty at prom; Betty in kindergarten; Betty walking down the aisle; Betty at graduation; Betty pregnant with their first child; Betty’s heartbroken face as they said goodbye on the steps of her house. 

Jughead cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus.

“Where I am now, but ten years older, I guess.” 

The interviewer clucked and moved on to the next question. 

Jughead had started community college. He was taking a creative writing class during the summer, to keep busy, but a part-time job would help fill the the rest of his time, when dark, unrelenting thoughts filled his mind. 

His heartache was like an extra limb; he was keenly aware of it at all times. It felt uncomfortably akin to wearing damp clothes - it very slowly chilled you to bone and before you knew it, you were achy with a head cold and felt nauseous and wrong. 

Everybody told him not to dwell on it. But how could he not? Blame his introspective nature. His overactive imagination. His need to overthink every single little thing and replay every conversation in his head like a broken record. 

He knew they'd made the right choice. 

Or they hadn’t.

It was a treacherous line of thought that led down a dark path Jughead couldn't take - not if he wanted to keep his sanity intact. 

Their relationship had ended through no fault but their own, and wasn't that so much more painful? When there was no one to point a finger at, no one to blame, no one to hate but yourself. 

“Was it hard?” someone had asked, once. “Letting go of her?”

And Jughead thought: not as hard as having her resent me would have been.

But what he said was: “Yeah. Yeah, it was hard.” 

But even that felt too blasé. A meager simplification. How do you put into words the feeling of utter desolation and emptiness that comes with giving up a vital part of yourself, maybe forever? 

He didn't want to hope that she'd be back. There was too much for her out there; the entire world at her feet. 

Jughead knew that his place was in Riverdale, doing his best to lead the Serpents towards a brighter, more hopeful future. They were his family, his responsibility, and he owed it to them to stay. So he had. 

The Serpents were his family. 

But Betty was his heart. 

 

... Now ...

 

A clean break, they’d called it. But could matters of the heart ever be anything but messy? 

When you felt raw, as though you’d been turned inside out, heart exposed to the elements, clean wasn’t the word that came to mind.

Jughead pondered on it as he drove past the gates of Thornhill. He parked his motorcycle next to Sweet Pea’s truck, unsurprised by the amount of cars on the driveway. Cheryl Blossom had made sure everyone who was anyone in Riverdale showed up to her engagement party. 

He shuffled to the door and it flung open before he had time to knock. Toni appeared, looking overwhelmed, but happy. 

“You made it! And only... “ she checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes late. A record, boss.” 

Jughead ignored the jab and stepped into the hallway, giving her a one-armed hug. “You’re lucky I decided to bless this party with my presence.” 

Toni chortled. “I'm lucky I told the caterers to make twice as much food.” 

Jughead’s mood instantly improved at the mention of food. If there was something you could count on at a Blossom party, it was spectacular hors d’oeuvres. 

“Now you’re speaking my language.” 

“It’s all laid out in the dining room. But come say hi first, everyone’s out back on the patio.” 

Toni turned to leave but Jughead stopped her. She looked up at him quizzically. 

“I just want to say congratulations. I'm really happy for you.” 

Her smile was all teeth. “Thank you, Jug. It really means a lot that you came.” 

They hugged, and it felt momentous - two friends who had known each other their entire lives, one of them about to take a giant step towards their future. Something twinged in Jughead’s chest but he ignored it. 

They walked together to the patio and he spotted a number of familiar faces: their old friends from school, several Serpents, his dad, who waved at him and resumed his conversation with Fred Andrews. 

Jughead’s eyes veered to the other side of the patio. 

Alice Cooper. 

Standing in a pristine yellow summer dress, laughing at something Mr Keller had said. 

Jughead hadn’t gone out of his way to avoid her, but they weren't exactly on friendly terms. If their paths crossed on the street, they'd acknowledge each other with a polite nod and carry on with their lives. 

She noticed him now, and her face morphed into an expression he didn't recognize. Before he had a chance to analyze it further, Cheryl burst through the doors behind him. 

“Look who I found wandering the estate!” Cheryl looked over her shoulder, but there was noone there. 

She huffed exasperatedly and called out, “Cousin!” 

Out of the shadows - slowly, like a skittish cat - came Betty Cooper. 

Jughead felt his world shift. 

...

As Betty drove down the quiet, leafy, residential streets of the Northside, she considered her situation. 

Fresh off the plane from California, she was about to see everybody she had reluctantly said goodbye to five years before. 

Life had been busy; graduating college, using up her summers to gain as much work experience as she could, landing a year-long internship at a top Bay Area newspaper - the reason why she had to postpone her return.

It had been a whirlwind. She had enjoyed her time at Berkeley - meeting new people, learning new things, expanding her horizons. She was grateful for the experience but it was time to come home.

She took a turn and found herself heading down an unfamiliar road. Betty almost laughed. It seemed impossible that any part of this town would ever become a mystery to her. She doubled back and found her way to Thornhill, feeling strangely out of place among those streets.

She had outgrown Riverdale. 

Could you also outgrow a person, like you do a sweater, or your favorite pair of pants from when you were a child? It was a sobering thought. 

The answer came to Betty then, as sure as a summer storm, wiping any tendrils of doubt from her mind. 

Of course not. 

Not Jughead Jones. 

According to her inside source - Veronica - he was currently single. She hadn't pressed for information, and she had never asked him directly about any detail pertaining his relationships. She wasn't that masochistic. 

They had kept in touch, somewhat. It was hard at first. Their conversations were short, clipped, and usually ended with her crying in the bathroom. 

Over time, it had become easier. 

They had never discussed what they would do after Betty’s graduation in any detail. It had felt unfair to put that kind of pressure on each other. The break up allowed them to explore their options in as many ways as they saw fit. At the time, it had made sense. 

She arrived at Thornhill and stepped out of the car, looking up across the lawn before she made her way inside through the unlocked front door. The house looked the same; she waved at a few acquaintances who seemed surprised, but pleased, to see her. 

Shuffling into the living room, she nearly bumped into Cheryl, who greeted her with the familiar Blossom once-over: scrutinizing her from head to toe, finding her somehow lacking, but keeping her thoughts to herself, because family. 

“Cousin Betty, what a delightful surprise!” Cheryl pulled her in for a delicate, barely-there kiss on the cheek, her rich, sultry perfume filling the air.

“I just got here, actually.” 

“Perfect, we were just about to cut the cake.” Cheryl turned, dragging Betty behind her. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floors.

“The cake?”

“Of course. Engagement cakes are just as valid as wedding cakes, if not more.” Cheryl said. “Wait until you try it. The baker is french and a genius when it comes to fondant.” 

They reached the doors leading out to the patio and Betty stopped short, needing to steady herself before facing everybody. 

She had waited five years for this moment. She would not chicken out now. Closing her eyes, she drew a long, deep breath through her mouth and let it out through her nose, ridding herself of anxiety. 

Cheryl called out her name, and with every bit of courage she could muster, she stepped out onto the patio. 

Her eyes found Jughead almost instantly and every nerve in her body tingled with his proximity. It felt similar to the sudden, disorienting jerk people sometimes experience when drifting off to sleep - when it feels like you're falling headfirst into the ground and can't brace yourself in time and your body twitches, suddenly alert. 

Cheryl was speaking, but it might as well have been gibberish. She could only focus on Jughead.

He looked surprised, but there was a glint in his eyes, which crinkled as his mouth stretched into a timid smile.

Betty felt her own lips pull up. 

She was home, at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @pennyroads x


End file.
